


Love of my life, don't leave me, You've stolen my love, you now desert me

by cowpoke69



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: AIDS Crisis Mention, Angst, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Idiots to Idiots, M/M, Mutual Pining, Richie And Eddie Are Just Two Dumb Fucks, Stan Being The Best Friend In The World, Young Adults, domestic losers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:06:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21548074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowpoke69/pseuds/cowpoke69
Summary: Richie's in love with Eddie. Eddie is about to leave town in a few days. Stanley's the best of friends. They all try to figure out this shit together.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	Love of my life, don't leave me, You've stolen my love, you now desert me

**Derry, Maine, August 1994.**

It’s one of their last days together and Richie feels like he’s going to be sick. He doesn’t really know if it’s because of the booze he drank the previous night or the fact that he can feel Eddie’s left arm wrapped around his waist, holding onto him even in his slumber. The soft press of his arms across his belly, the way he always grabs his t-shirt every time he wakes up —mid-nightmare— just to make sure he’s not alone. Richie doesn’t mind it; not one bit. Because it feels good, it feels right and incredibly mind-numbing at the same time, but despite all of this, the sadness gets worse and worse every time he looks at him.

Summer is ending and Eddie is about to leave for college. In a few days, he’ll be gone. In a few weeks, he’ll slowly start to forget about Derry, his mother, Richie, and the Losers. Just like Beverly did when she left town a few years ago to live with her aunt. Richie has witnessed the way they’ve all lost hope that she might ever come back. How Bill gradually stopped saying that she’d eventually remember his phone number, how Ben kept writing letters to her until one day he just gave up, and how Mike entirely ceased mentioning her every time he thought something would make her smile.

Stanley lost it once —two summers ago— when the others were all swimming around in the quarry and Richie spotted him crying his heart out under the shade of a tree. He remembers clearing his throat first, then reaching out to his friend, the fingers of his left hand pressing his forearm, kindly offering a shoulder for him to cry on. He remembers the way Stan’s chin quivered whenever he tried to speak, how he whimpered every time the truth became too unbearable to deal with.

“I can’t do this Richie. I just—how can you all pretend that she was never there?”

Richie recalls looking up towards the green leaves protecting them from the sun. Silent, for a few seconds. Just enough for him to process Stanley’s question.

“I’m not pretending Stan. It’s just easier for me not to think about Bev too much. But sometimes I can’t help it. I wonder what happened to her. If she’s doing okay, if she’s alive.”

Stanley remained quiet, grateful for the fact that Richie didn’t mind the wet spot on his shoulder, nor the fact that he was having an emotional breakdown instead of playing with the others. They never mentioned it again. Richie was pretty sure Stan would strangle him to death if he ever tried to bring this up with the boys. So Richie didn’t say a word about what happened on that day, under the shade of an aspen tree.

It took Stan longer than the other Losers to make his peace with Beverly being gone forever, but ultimately, he stopped mentioning her. Once in a while, Richie would catch him looking at the building where she used to live with her father, his eyes immediately focusing on something else whenever he noticed him staring. Stanley never was the type to hide his emotions, but for some reason, he chose to bury the pain related to Bev being gone deep down. Under layers and layers of fake smiles and a few “yeah, I’m good” whenever one of the boys asked if he was doing alright. Somewhere Richie knew he’d never be able to access again. What happened at the quarry had been a once in a lifetime experience.

Eddie’s not gone, not yet, but Richie knows it’ll hurt like nothing else when he does. Once people leave this killer-clown bearing town, they completely forget about it. He got his proof with Beverly and every other person who left this cursed town. It doesn’t matter if you have loved ones or a job or anything remotely important holding you back, once you leave Derry you don’t come back unless something makes you.

Richie tries not to think about it too much. But inevitably he does, and there’s this terrible feeling rising inside of his chest. His heart longs for something he does not have. Something he will never have. Eddie mumbles something into the pillow. A string of incoherent words. It makes Richie want to bottle them up and store them somewhere safe where nothing, not even time itself, could alter this memory. Eddie holds him tighter for a moment, then a second later the grip he had on his t-shirt is gone. He’s fully awake now.

“Good morning fuck head,” Richie says, trying to sound casual while he sits up, looking around to evaluate the rest of his surroundings.

They all stayed to sleep at Bill’s, their host’s room big enough for all of them. Richie and Eddie took the bed as usual because no one —except Richie of course— wants to sleep next to clingy-in-his-sleep Eddie. Richie always acts as if it bothers him, rolling his eyes at the others when they push them together. It’s always been like this. Richie and Eddie sharing the hammock, Eddie holding Richie’s backpack whenever he got into an ass beating at school, Richie sleeping with Eddie because he’s a light sleeper anyway so he doesn’t mind him almost climbing on top of him during the night.

It used to be true. When they were younger, Richie just spent half of the night reading comic books using Eddie’s forehead flashlight and he really didn’t care about his friend throwing his arms or his legs across his body. But now that he’s eighteen and his feelings for Eddie are clearly more than just friendly, he craves those nights. He’s thought about it countless times, and he’s pretty sure that nothing will ever be sweeter than waking up at 3 am to find Eddie curled up against his side.

Richie usually spends the night trying not to move, lying on his back while looking at the ceiling, counting sheep until Stanley starts snoring and he fights against a fit of laughter because it sounds like a lawnmower. Last night though, he knows he wasn’t the only one having troubles with insomnia. He heard Bill and Mike whispering until late. He was only able to make out the hum of their voices, failing to understand the nature of their conversation.

Richie immediately spots them when he looks around the room this morning. Mike is still sprawled out on the floor, one half of his body in his sleeping bag, the other directly on the wooden floor. His back will kill him when he wakes up, Richie thinks, but right now he’s sleeping like a log. Parallel to him, Bill is on his belly, writing something in his ‘brainstorming’ notebook. Richie gave it to him for his birthday, an exact replica of the one he personally uses to write dirty jokes and doodle random alien faces and floating hands giving the middle finger.

“Bill, don’t forget, I want half of your royalties if you ever become a famous writer, that notebook was my idea,” he says.

Bill looks up, offering Richie a smile, “Don’t worry, you’ll become rich and famous before me, Trashmouth.”

Richie tsks, finally leaving the covers to go looking for his trousers. Stanley crosses the room to sit on the bed, taking his spot next to Eddie. Eddie who’s still hiding his face under a pillow, Eddie who hasn’t said a word yet even though he’s been awake for at least five minutes. Richie figures there is something wrong with him, otherwise, he would be talking just like he always does. Fast and aggressive. His sentences coming out in short bursts of energy. Sometimes Richie wonders if speaking is not the equivalent of breathing to Eddie.

He’s aware of the fact that he, too, used to speak a lot. Always throwing jokes at his friends, always saying something witty even when they were all facing a murderous clown. But ever since they got into high school, he stopped using his words as a defense mechanism. Not as much as he used to, at least. Now Richie thinks before he opens his mouth. It doesn’t just come straight out of his brain with no filter like it used to. He sometimes wonders if it’s because of the turmoil that’s been boiling inside of him for a while now.

He’s more careful with his words, mindful of the fact that they have meaning. Unlike those greasy-haired teenagers who used to throw insults at him whenever he was being too friendly with a boy at the arcade. 1989, he used to think. People change. In a few years, things are gonna get easier for you Richie. They will tolerate you. The AIDS crisis will disappear and they will forget. That’s what he used to tell himself when no one else would.

The arcade closed and the bullies moved out, went to college or left town to find a job. He went to high school and built this fortress around him. No one would ever call him a slur again or they would taste his fists. No one ever did call him that again. Everyone was too busy thinking about their own existence. The high school experience was nothing like the movies. No jocks to insult them in the hallway. No cheerleaders walking in groups. The establishment didn’t have the funds required for a sports team, anyway. They stayed together. The Losers Club. The friendship bonding all of them stronger than Richie’s fears. They’d faced death together, why not adolescence?

Eddie’s voice bursts Richie’s bubble, he focuses on the moment, “Earth to Richie!”

Eddie is standing before him, always a head shorter than Richie, waving his left hand a few inches from his face. 

Richie frowns, swatting his hand away with the back of his, “What do you want?”

“You know where Ben is?” Eddie doesn’t even wait for him to answer, turning to face the mirror of Bill’s wardrobe, trying as best as he can to rearrange his morning hair.

“Yeah”, Richie sounds almost disappointed by the trivial nature of his question, “he went downstairs to make breakfast. Talking about breakfast, I would die for pancakes. Do you think he made pancakes? Yeah, he totally made pancakes, that’s the only thing he knows how to do. That and being fucking smart.”

“Let’s go eat those before Stanley devours everything, then!” Mike intervenes.

Richie doesn’t really have the time to catch Eddie’s reply to his answer. Mike’s arm is around his neck in a matter of seconds, leading him out of the room. Richie hides his frustration as best as he can. He’s been dying to speak to Eddie for a while now, and he was too tipsy to do so yesterday. This morning seemed like the perfect occasion. Mike releases his friendly grab on him only when they reach the kitchen. Richie loosens up a little when he spots the huge plate stacked with pancakes waiting for them on the breakfast table.

Stanley is already seated at his preferred spot, at the head of the table, pouring himself some orange juice while waiting for the others to take their seats. Bill goes outside to check the mailbox and comes back reading a newspaper with a serious expression plastered on his face. Richie understands why his parents trust him with the house when they go on vacation. Bill is eighteen but he acts like he’s about to be forty years old next year. Mike sits next to Bill, craning his neck to take a peek at the front page.

“No one went missing during the weekend,” he states, relief taking over his features.

Stan says something that sounds like “cool” but Richie’s not sure since his friend’s mouth is stuffed with a mixture of pancakes and strawberries. 

“What was that?” he asks, and Stanley actually waits until he’s done chewing his food to respond.

“I said cool.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, just wasn’t sure with all the pieces of food and spit coming out of your mouth, y’know,” Richie says, smirking when Stanley rolls his eyes at him.

“What? You’re disgusting, I just gotta say it how it is.”

“You haven’t showered in like three days, Rich, so who’s disgusting really?” Eddie asks, showing up out of nowhere to sit next to Richie.

His hair looks much better now and Richie wonders out loud, “How much spit did you have to use to make it stick to your stupid head?”

“Why don’t you ask your mom,” Eddie says, “now shut the fuck up and pass me a pancake, I’m starving.”

Richie makes sure to lick the palm of his hand before passing him the food he asked for, his lips curving into a smirk when Eddie starts lashing out at him.

“Fuck you, Richie, I’m not eating this.”

“I thought you were starving?” Richie asks, knowing exactly how to push Eddie’s buttons in all the wrong ways.

“Do you know the number of bacteria there is in saliva? And I bet your ass yours is even more disgusting than regular saliva.”

“Oh yeah? That’s probably because this mouth has been going down on your mom on the regular,” Richie retorts.

Ben tries to stifle his laugh behind a glass of water but he ends up choking so hard Stanley has to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him. Richie is too busy running around the table in circles after Eddie, with his tongue out, to notice. Eventually, Bill stops reading the newspaper, redirecting their attention to the table when he calls out to them.

“Guys, I think Beverly’s father died.”

Hearing Bill saying her name out loud for the first time in years sends shivers down Richie’s spine. They all sit back around the table, everyone reading the obituary section of the newspaper in turn. Alvin Marsh. Died: August 21st 1994. Cause of death: unknown. Eddie’s the last one to read it, and for the first time in forever, Richie sees him react to something related to Beverly since she left Derry. It’s unusual, seeing Eddie so silent. Yet it has happened twice already this morning.

“Good riddance,” Mike finally says. 

“Yeah, fuck him,” Bill adds, and everyone looks at him like he’s grown a second head. 

“What?” he asks after a moment of silence, and the boys burst out in laughter at the way their friend genuinely doesn’t understand why they are all so shocked. 

Eddie is the loudest, and Richie looks at him, joyful tears blurring his vision, promising himself that he’ll cherish this memory forever. Even if Eddie forgets about him, as long as Richie stays in this wretched town, his love for him will remain. And when Eddie looks back at him, hysterical and carefree, Richie feels alive and scared at the same time. Deep down, he finds the strength to hold his gaze, despite the hurt, silently promising himself that he’ll let go of him only when the world outside of Derry comes to claim him. 

“Bill,” Mike says, “put some music on while we clean this up.”

Eddie stops looking at Richie and the moment is gone, no need to chase after it, “Who’s ‘we’ Mike? It’s not my turn to wash the dishes.”

Stanley nods in agreement before pointing at Richie with his fork, a piece of pancake dangling from the tip, “Yeah, it’s I and Richie this time.”

Richie dramatically grabs his hair, mimicking his friend’s voice, “It’s I and Richie this time. Stan, really? What did I ever fucking do to you to deserve this?”

Stanley shrugs before standing up, already stacking empty plates on top of each other, “Nothing, it’s just the rules Rich.”

“Fuck the rules,” Richie mumbles, before standing up to help his best friend.

* * *

Richie tries not to break anything while they wash the dishes, but it’s really hard for him to stay put when he knows that the others are having the time of their life in the living room. Stanley tries to cheer him up, but it does nothing to lift his spirits. His behavior is petty and childish, that much he knows, but he cannot help it. He’d rather be having fun alongside Eddie, he’d rather be enjoying their last moments together, than washing the goddamn dishes. 

So, inevitably, he ends up dropping one of the mugs in the sink, the porcelain breaking and cutting the palm of his right hand in the process. Richie curses the entire world for half a minute, looking at the cut while screwing his face in pain. It hurts at first, and then the frustration just washes over him. If it weren’t for his stupid crush on Eddie, his hand would be perfectly fine. Stanley calls it quits, abandoning the remaining of the dirty plates to grab Richie’s wrist and run cold water on the wound.

“It’ll stop the bleeding,” he says. 

Richie’s voice is so small he feels like it doesn’t belong to him, “Thanks, Stan. I just—I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Stanley smiles at him, always so kind, the type of smile that makes Richie all warm and fuzzy inside. The type of smile that makes him feel like everything’s gonna be fine. That he’s not gonna get his heartbroken, that Eddie won’t leave and they’ll blissfully go on with their lives. It makes him even think that this stupid clown will never ever come back. Maybe Stanley will forever be here to care for him and take his troubles away. Richie smiles back at him, something full of delusion and broken dreams.

Stan is still holding Richie’s wrist when he asks, “When are you going to tell him?”

Richie feels like he’s been gut-punched. Surely, Stanley must be talking about something else. This cannot be true. And yet, Stanley’s gaze is fixed on him, the same familiar strand of curly hair falling on his forehead, his entire attention focused on Richie, waiting for a truthful answer. Richie averts his gaze and considers opening the kitchen window to escape his friend’s scrutiny. Stanley’s always been so meticulous, no wonder he found out the truth on his own.

“I don’t know,” Richie whispers, trying his best not to sound too miserable.

Stanley clears his throat before releasing his friend’s wrist, “Let’s find you some Band-Aids.”

Richie is so grateful that he doesn’t say a word and just follows Stanley until they’re in the bathroom adjacent to Bill’s room. He sits on the edge of the bathtub while Stanley looks through the drawers. Richie wonders what he would do without Stanley in his life. Stanley who always lets him crash at his place even when he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle, Stanley who brings him _challah_ whenever his mother bakes some, Stanley who’s his best friend and without whom Richie would be utterly lost in this world.

So, when Stanley comes back to kneel in front of him and starts cleaning his wound, Richie feels like he owes him the straightforward truth, “I can’t let go of him. I just can’t do this. I feel like—I feel like I’m gonna die if he forgets about me. And I know—I know he will.”

Stanley waits until he’s done wrapping up his hand in gauze and bandages before looking up. There is no kindness on his features, not this time, and Richie feels like crying because it looks like pity. But he doesn’t, because Stanley stands up and runs a hand through his friend’s much too long hair, a gesture so full of empathy Richie wants it to last forever. Stanley then pats him on the left cheek, his hand soft and caring.

“You can’t force him to stay Rich. His mom is gonna suffocate him if he stays in this town any longer.”

“I know, I know,” Richie says, defeated.

“You can still tell him how you’re feeling though.”

Richie shakes his head, hopelessness surging from his very heart, “He’ll either think I’m fucking with him or he’ll leave Derry even faster than he already wants to.”

Richie hates how it makes him feel, saying this out loud for the first time and seeing the look on Stan’s face. It’s just the truth and there is nothing scarier than the idea of Eddie running away from him as soon as he confesses his love. So he doesn’t say a word when Stanley grabs him by the collar of his red LC WAIKIKI t-shirt to pull him into a hug. Richie just stands there, letting the warmth of Stanley’s embrace soothe his sorrows.

“I love you Rich. And it’s okay if you don’t tell him. Whatever you do, I got your back.”

“Love you too, Stan the man,” Richie sniffles, putting his non-injured hand on his friend’s back.

They hold each other for a few minutes more and Richie can’t help but wonder who needed this hug the most. At last, their shared laughter fills the room when they hear the boys singing the lyrics to a familiar tune. From here, they can hear Eddie’s awful rendition of ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’. Stanley is the first to let go, his head bobbing to the rhythm, feet sliding across the floor, playing air guitar as if his life depends on it. Richie dries his tears, half dancing, half smiling at his best friend’s successful attempt to make him feel better.

When they get back downstairs, Bill and Ben are arguing over who gets to play Link’s Awakening first. Mike is lying on the living room carpet, reading a hundred-year-old encyclopedia he probably found in Mr. Denbrough’s library and Eddie’s nowhere to be seen. Stanley immediately joins Mike in his study, the both of them always getting along when it comes to intellectual matters. Richie feels weirdly left out for a moment, pondering the idea of snatching the Game Boy from Bill’s hands to settle the ongoing conflict.

But instead, he finds himself asking, “Where’s Eds?”

Mike gives him a reply, not even lifting his eyes from his precious discovery, “He went downstairs to look at Bill’s VHS collection. We were thinking about watching a movie later. You in?”

“Yeah,” Richie says, “got nothing better to do anyway.”

Downstairs. The basement. The place where Bill saw It not so long ago when they were all being chased by the disgusting creature. It’s unlike Eddie to go there by himself. The place would give the creeps to anyone in their right state of mind. But Eddie’s not himself today, not entirely, and Richie wants to find out what’s been going on in that thick head of his before it’s too late. He mumbles something about checking if the moron didn’t trip down the stairs and die before going after his love.

* * *

Eddie is crouching next to a cardboard box, his hands covered in gardening gloves to prevent him from catching any disease as he tries to find something decent to watch for later. The place is only lit up by a single light bulb, the thing so dangerously installed that Richie thinks it’s a miracle no one got electrocuted yet. Eddie’s too focused on his task to notice him and Richie doesn’t make a sound. He simply waits until he’s towering over his friend to produce a sound coming from the back of his throat. Eddie lets out a gasp before standing up, brandishing a VHS like a sword.

“At ease, soldier,” Richie says, trying not to snort.

Eddie’s expressive features go from pure alarm to relief to grumpiness, “Fuck you, Rich, fuck you. You scared me.”

“I can tell,” Richie says, grabbing the VHS before Eddie decides to throw it at his face.

He puts it back into the box, carefully avoiding his friend’s gaze. The lighting is dim in the basement but his eyes are still red and he would hate for Eddie to start asking questions about his emotional breakdown. What happened in that bathroom needs to stay in that bathroom forever. Richie’s not ready to lay it out all out in front of Eddie. In fact, he’s pretty sure he never wants to mention it again. He would rather die carrying his secret all the way to his grave rather than risk destroying their friendship a few days before Eddie leaves for college.

Besides, Eddie has been acting weird all morning. His mood seems to be on and off. Going from being a smartass with a big mouth to someone Richie barely recognizes. So when Eddie crouches again, this time next to Richie who doesn’t really care about hygiene and is now sitting on the dusty floor, he waits for him to speak first, not wanting to make things awkward with a bunch of questions.

“See something you like?” Eddie asks, and Richie feels like his soul is about to escape his body.

And really, if he was brave enough, like the main characters in a movie, he’d reply with something extremely cheesy and romantic. But Eddie is talking about the box full of VHS and Richie hates his mind for even going there. Richie hates everything. The way Eddie looks at him, expectantly waiting for an answer, the way he’s carrying a fanny pack even though they’re inside someone’s house. The way he can hear his heart beating because he loves him so fucking much that every single cell in his body responds to anything he does or says.

“Yeah, your mom.”

Eddie proceeds to throw the contents of the box at him while Richie blurts out a half-assed apology. He dodges the last projectile with his right arm, wincing in pain when it hits his bandaged hand. Eddie immediately stops, concern crossing his features. Richie acts like it’s no big deal, ready to make another mom joke to distract his friend but Eddie’s already getting closer to him, holding out his hand to touch Richie’s.

“What happened?” Eddie asks. 

Richie swears there’s a hint of fondness on his tone.

“Nothing. Just cut myself while washing the dishes,” Richie mumbles, trying to avoid the subject as much as possible but Eddie’s already touching his wrist.

“Let me see.”

Richie doesn’t protest. He doesn’t even move when Eddie carefully inspects his hand, acting like he just got a degree in medical care. But there is no doubt that he knows what he’s doing. Eddie has spent so much of his life in hospitals and at the pharmacy that he’ll be able to tell if Stan did a great job or not. He’s so thorough in his examination that he doesn’t really notice the way Richie’s been staring at him. So enamored and so drawn to him that he, himself, doesn’t realize he’s been staring at first.

He can’t help it though. His mind has been chanting the same melody for years now and he doesn’t really care if something in his eyes betrays his feelings because Eddie wouldn’t notice it anyway. He’s always too busy either running his mouth or checking if his inhaler is still in his fanny pack. All these annoying things that make him who he is. All of these details which when they are put together make him the person Richie’s desperately in love with.

“So that’s why you two were locked up the bathroom,” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Richie says, smirking despite all the heartsick thoughts crossing his mind, “What? You jealous or something?”

Eddie drops his wrist so fast Richie almost gets whiplash from the sudden change in his behavior, “Shut the fuck up.”

Richie’s mind races, swarmed by false hopes and the idea that maybe, just maybe, Eddie could be jealous. He observes him as Eddie puts his gloves back on and starts collecting the cassettes scattered all across the room. He carefully puts them back inside of the box, checking every time to see if he hasn’t broken anything when he was throwing them at his friend. Richie remains silent, his legs crossed against his chest. He knows he probably looks lost but that’s exactly how he feels inside so it’s fine by him.

When Eddie’s finally done he just goes, “You can choose the movie, I don’t care,” and then he’s going up the stairs leading to the main floor. 

Richie doesn’t know how long he stays there, holding his knees against his chest and looking at nothing in particular. At some point though, he sees something moving in a shady corner so he just grabs a random VHS before running up the stairs, taking them two by two. He finds the boys exactly where he left them besides the fact that Eddie is now arguing with Bill and Ben about who gets to hold the Game Boy next.

“So, what did you pick?” Stan asks.

Richie looks down to see which VHS he randomly picked during his escape from Bill’s creepy basement, “Uh, Dirty Dancing.”  
__

Richie starts growing anxious again about what happened in the basement within the first twenty minutes of the movie. He has seen it at least thirty times already with his mother, so he loses his interest for it sometime during the opening scene. He’s sitting on the couch, between Stanley and Bill. Eddie, Ben, and Mike are sitting on the ground, their backs leaning against the lower part of the couch. Eddie’s so close to Richie that his hair keeps ticking his feet whenever he moves.

“Richie your movie tastes fucking suck,” he keeps complaining, but Richie doesn’t even bother replying to him.

If Eddie has already forgotten about what happened just half an hour ago, Richie can’t bring himself to do so. Eddie turns to look at him but he just glares at him, the look in his eyes enough to make him go silent for the rest of the movie. If Stanley notices the exchange, he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he simply gets closer to Richie, resting his head on his shoulder, a gesture so simple yet so comforting. Richie knows that no matter how shitty things get, Stanley will always be here for him.

When the movie ends, Mike is the first one to leave. Since he’s started working at the library, Richie has learned to enjoy the few moments they share together. Sometimes Richie just shows up unannounced at his workplace, pretending to be a patron looking for an ancient grimoire about dark magic or a book giving dating advice. Weirdly, Mike always gets him what he’s looking for.

Then it’s Ben’s turn to say goodbye, always hugging all of them one by one, even when they were in high school and everybody was staring. Then Stan, who still lingers a bit longer than usual to make sure Richie’s gonna be okay until he really has to go or else he’ll be late to help his mother for dinner. Richie promises him that he will at least take a shower once he gets home instead of going straight to bed like he intended to. 

Of course, Richie came here with Eddie, using the same bike because he’s a double moron, so he has to leave with him. Bill’s completely oblivious to the fact that there’s something going on between the two of them and frankly, Richie’s glad he doesn’t take notice. Bill’s always trying to be the one who settles every conflict in the group, but this time Richie really doesn’t want to talk about his feelings during one of his improvised therapy sessions. He doesn’t even wait for Eddie to be done picking up all of his stuff to go get his bike in the garage. It always takes Eddie ages to stuff all of his “sleepover essentials” into his backpack. Richie, who always shows up already wearing his pajama, doesn’t understand the concept.

When Eddie finally gets on the bike with him, Richie is so frustrated that he doesn’t even pay attention to Bill waving at them until they’re out of sight. He just wants to drop his friend at his house and go home to sulk in peace. Of course, things aren’t that easy. Things are never easy when it comes to Eddie. They spend the entire ride in silence and Richie’s thankful for the fact that Eddie’s place is only ten minutes away from Bill’s. Eddie’s arms are around his waist, but today he does not press his cheek against Richie’s back like he usually does.

Eddie’s the one who breaks the silence, when they’re just a few blocks away from his place, “Stop the fucking bike.”

Richie hits the brakes so hard they almost get into a nasty fall. Eddie curses at him under his breath, adding to the building tension between them. They regularly get into fights and arguments, but this time it is different. Richie can sense that Eddie’s seriously upset about something, and his lack of communication is getting on his nerves. Ironic coming from him, the one who always resorts to humor whenever things get too serious.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Richie asks when Eddie starts walking in the general direction of his home.

“Just go Richie, for fuck’s sake, just leave!” Eddie yells.

Richie starts biking next to a determined Eddie who really doesn’t seem to know what his exact plan is. He looks at the road ahead of him while trying to come up with something to say, something that will make Eddie stay, if only for a few more minutes. Just enough for Richie to muster up the courage to tell him the truth. It terrifies him already, the way Eddie’s trying to distance himself from him. Richie cannot bear it any longer, he feels like his heart is going to break into a thousand pieces if Eddie asks him to leave his side one more time. 

So, just as Eddie turns around to scream something at him, Richie goes for it, the words tumbling out of his mouth and into the world, “Eddie, there’s something very important I need to tell you. So please just fucking calm down and get back on that fucking bike.”

Eddie just looks at him, stunned into silence by Richie’s proposition.

“Pretty please?” Richie adds, already sweating even though he’s only wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

Eddie sighs, heavily, like he’s carrying the entire world on his shoulders, “My mom’s waiting for me. I can’t. Just go Richie.”

Richie doesn’t give up; he follows Eddie all the way to his place, immediately spotting his mother peeking out the window. She’s been waiting for her son to come back home. One minute later and she’d probably be calling the cops to signal a missing person. Richie waves at her, awkwardly smiling even though he just really wants her to give them some privacy. She offers him something that looks like a grimace before opening the window.

“Eddie honey, I’ve missed you!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eddie mutters before turning around to walk towards her, “Hey, mom!”

His mother smiles at him, satisfied, always craving his attention even when her son has clearly run out of fucks to give when it comes to their relationship. Eddie just tolerates her, one foot always out the door, ready to escape the grasp she has on him. And in a few days, he’ll be free. It’s ironic Richie thinks, the fact that Eddie has found the strength to kick a killer clown in the face when he was thirteen, but still has to hide his true self when it comes to the woman who gave birth to him.

But Richie knows what Eddie’s made of. A dangerous cocktail of pure energy ready to burst at all times. So he doesn’t push it, doesn’t want to create a scene, doesn’t beg Eddie to stay, doesn’t want to. And when Eddie closes the door behind him, Richie tries not to let it break his heart. At least not until he finds himself on Stanley’s front step, knocking on the door until his best friend opens it. Richie realizes he was probably in the middle of having dinner with his family, but it’s alright, Stanley doesn’t mind him showing up at his place unannounced.

“Richie, what—are you okay?”

Richie doesn’t even find it in him to say something. He’s only able to let out a heart-wrenching sob, something coming from the depth of his devastated soul. He never thought he’d ever get his heart broken so easily. Such a fragile thing, love, yet Richie still doesn’t understand why it hurts so much. He thinks it’s unfair. He did not choose to fall in love with Eddie. It just happened. But it had to be him. It had to be Eddie.

“Come here,” Stanley says, grabbing his hand with a careful grip, leading him to his room.

* * *

“I think I need to tell him,” Richie says.

It’s 2 am and Stanley has been trying to sleep for the past hour and a half but Richie cannot stop venting about everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Stanley shifts next to him, lying in his bed under the sheets even though the summer heat hasn’t died down, while Richie’s just sits there, against the headboard, talking his ears off about the same thing over and over. Stanley finally turns to look at Richie, uncovering only his head to gaze at him.

“Yeah, I really think you should,” he says, yawning and stretching his legs at the same time.

Richie stops biting his nails to stare at his friend, “I don’t know how to do it though. What if he just fucking starts lashing out at me? I’m not sure I can handle him when he’s acting like a feral gremlin. Especially not right after confessing my dumb crush on him.”

Stanley snorts, “It’s not a crush Rich, you’re in love with Eddie.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m in love with this fucking moron,” Richie whispers as if he’s suddenly afraid someone might be eavesdropping at the door. 

“Do you think you’ll be okay if he rejects you?” Stanley asks, his curly hair hiding his watchful eyes.

Richie shrugs, “I don’t know about _okay_ but at least I will be able to move on.”

Stanley remains silent, probably unsure about what the definition of moving on is to Richie.

“Okay, I’ll fucking cry for weeks and I’ll probably be looking forward to leaving this fucking town just to forget about him,” Richie admits, now nervously playing with a corner of the cotton sheets.

Stanley pats his friend on the knee, carefully choosing his words, “Do you think you’ll forget me too?”

“No way,” Richie says like it’s obvious.

“Why not? Bev, she—she forgot about all of us. You’re gonna forget too, Rich.”

“No, I won’t. I swear to god I won’t. I’ll put sticky-notes all over my face just to remind me that you exist. I swear I’ll even tattoo your name on my skin. And I’ll always have this to remember you by,” Richie says, showing his friend the leftover scar from their blood pact.

Stanley smiles at him, “Me too, I’ll always remember Richie Trasmouth Tozier. Please don’t ignore me when you become a famous comedian.”

Richie laughs, messing his friend’s hair and finally lying on his back next to him, above the covers, “I told you, I won’t forget you, Stan.”

Stanley falls asleep first and Richie is actually grateful for his awful snoring because it makes it nearly impossible for him to focus on something else. His mind, which is usually constantly buzzing with a cacophony of thoughts, doesn’t want to cooperate tonight. Richie’s just feels tired. His heart’s heavy and his mind just wants some peace and quiet for a little while. However, it remains a struggle to fall into Morpheus’s arms. When Stanley wakes up in the middle of the night to pull him into his arms, only then Richie allows himself to give up the fight.

* * *

He’s is biking around town with Bill the next evening when they ride past Eddie’s house. Their mutual friend is supposed to leave in five days but his luggage and a few of his belongings are outside, waiting on his front step. Richie stops on the sidewalk before Bill even has the time to realize what is going on. His bike, Silver, is so old that he cannot hit the brakes in time, but Richie simply ignores his friend’s struggle and just abandons his own bike on the asphalt. Eddie comes out of the house screaming at his mother just when Richie’s about to knock on the door. He doesn’t even need to ask what is going on, Eddie’s screams tell him everything he needs to know about the situation. 

“Just fuck off, Mom, I’m not fucking ten years old anymore! I’m not staying in this house any longer! Fuck you, fuck this town, fuck these fucking meds you keep feeding me, fuck!”

Eddie isn’t even looking in front of him so he just bumps into Richie’s chest, letting out a scream before pushing him out of the way, “What do you want Richie?”

“Nothing, I—Where are you going Eds?” Richie asks, aware of the way he sounds.

“I’m just fucking leaving, I can’t stand being in the same room as her,” Eddie snarls, putting his backpack and grabbing the handle of his suitcase.

Richie holds up his hands in front of him, trying as best as he can to slow his friend down but Eddie’s mother is screaming some intelligible thing from the inside of the house and suddenly she’s here, crying and begging her son to stay, her hands reaching out to him, clawing at his skin like a monster. So Richie just grabs Eddie by the edge of his striped polo and starts running in the opposite direction. Bill catches up in time, grabbing one of Eddie’s bags to sling it across his back before running back towards his beloved bike. Richie doesn’t know how Eddie manages to grab his waist and his suitcase at the same time, but he only stops pedaling when they’re at least five blocks away from his house.

“I think we can slow down now,” Bill pants out, looking like he’s about to throw up from the effort.

Richie agrees, slowing down his pace while quickly turning around to make sure Eddie’s mom isn’t following them. Eddie’s still holding onto him like his life depends on it. Richie feels like his heart is going to burst but he tries to stay calm. Freaking out would probably make the situation even worse than it already is, and it’s the last thing he wants to do. He can feel Eddie shaking against him, his fingers tightly clutching the front of his t-shirt.

“Are you okay?” Richie asks.

Eddie just nods against his back and Richie wants to stop his bike just to make sure she hasn’t harmed him. If she’s touched even a single hair of his, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t mind going back there to scare the shit out of her. But instead of asking, his right hand just lets go of his bike’s handle to rest on top of Eddie’s, the silent promise that everything’s gonna be alright.

“So what’s the plan now?” Bill asks when they’ve reached the public park at the corner of Richie’s street.

Eddie finally speaks, his voice barely audible, “Can I stay at your place, Richie?”

Richie doesn’t even need to think about his answer, “Yeah, of course.”

“Your mom’s gonna be okay with that?”

“Yeah, no big deal.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Eddie. You can stay at my place as long as you need to,” Richie confirms, craning his neck to look at his friend.

Eddie weakly smiles at him and it is settled. Bill hugs them both, whispering a few encouraging words to Eddie, before letting go. For some reason, he insists on waving goodbye at them while biking, which almost gets him into a car accident. Richie tries not to laugh too hard at his friend’s behavior but Eddie breaks into a nervous fit of laughter and he just loses it. They laugh all the way back to Richie’s place and Richie almost stops stressing about the fact that the love of his life is about to spend the night at his place.

* * *

Richie waits until it’s Eddie’s turn to take a shower to process the situation. He doesn’t even bother doing something to his wet hair which will dry on its own. He just sits on his bed, rehearsing what he wants to say over and over in his head. When Eddie comes back into his room, pure fear rises in his guts, imploring him to remain silent. He knows already what the outcome of this foolish confession is going to be, yet he still feels the inherent need to say it out loud.

Eddie has changed into a dark grey t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, which totally contrasts with Richie’s outfit. He’s wearing a green t-shirt with Bart Simpson's likeness on the front and his pants look like they’ve been in his possession for at least a century. These are his comfort items, the clothes he always wears whenever he feels stressed out. And tonight Richie feels like he’s about to pass out from the anxiety. Eddie joins him on his bed and Richie already wants to turn the lights off and pretend to fall asleep.

Eddie clears his throat, looking at some of the posters plastered on the walls, “I haven’t been here in a while. Nothing has changed. It’s just—somehow even more disgusting.”

Richie tries to focus on the moment, “Oh, yeah? I kinda like it that way.”

If Eddie hasn’t been here in a while, it’s probably because Richie’s been avoiding spending too much time with him alone for a few years now. They still hang out all the time, but mostly around the other guys. Richie hasn’t been able to trust himself to not act like a fool ever since he realized he’s been in love with his childhood best friend. But right now, it’s just him and Eddie, casually talking like nothing has happened during the last few days. Richie has missed this so much that he lets his guard down for a moment.

Eddie plays with the watch on his left wrist, Richie can tell he’s nervous, “Are you okay, Eds?”

“Yeah. I’m just—I’m so sorry.”

“About what?” Richie says.

“About earlier, when I screamed at you. And last Monday, when I acted like a fucking asshole at Bill’s. About everything, really.”

Richie takes it all in, focusing on his breathing, and he finds himself accepting his friend’s apology. It’s always so tempting to say yes to Eddie. He usually does it just so he would shut up, but this time, his purpose is not the same. Eddie’s been on edge, he’s about to leave town in a few days and probably never come back. It dawns on Richie like the sharp blade of a sword. He is scared, Eddie’s scared and Richie is just now realizing it.

“It’s fine,” he replies.

“Richie, look at me,” Eddie asks, his voice soft yet demanding.

Richie does look at him, his eyes finding his immediately. Eddie’s been looking at him all this time, an unusual expression crossing his features. Richie senses sadness and something much, much deeper stirring in his guts. Something he cannot put a word on, not yet. This is it, he thinks. Eddie’s about to say goodbye and that will be the end of it. Richie already wants to beg him and hold him in his arms until the love of his dear life changes his mind. But then Eddie doesn’t say a thing and Richie suddenly feels like he is about to throw up from the buildup tension rising in his stomach.

He heads for the bathroom, leaving a confused Eddie sitting alone on his bed. He’ll understand. Eddie always understands. Richie doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him, thankful for the fact that he has his own personal bathroom right next to his room. And he just sits there, on the cold ceramic floor, appreciating the soothing coolness. It has become a habit of his, literally becoming sick whenever a situation is too stressful. However, this time, he manages to hold it in, breathing in and out while holding his head in his trembling hands, until Eddie’s voice reaches the fogginess of his mind.

“Richie, are you okay?”

“Yeah, doing just great,” Richie says, dragging out the last word.

He can hear Eddie getting closer to him, sitting on the floor next to him as if it’s no big deal for him to be sitting on something remotely dirty. He can feel his hand on the back of his head, soothing him, reassuringly running his fingers through his hair. Eddie doesn’t say a word, he just waits, patiently, until Richie’s ready to look at him again. Richie who’s mesmerized by the way Eddie stares at him. Confused also; this is not the Eddie he’s used to. Eddie’s lips move, as if he’s about to say something, but then he changes his mind and entirely stops looking at Richie.

“I’m gonna fucking miss you,” Richie says, his lower lip trembling, a never-ending fight again his need to shed all the tears he’s been holding back.

Eddie’s hand remains on the nape of his neck, his eyes staring at the floor as if it holds the answers to all of his questions.

“Eds, I said I’m gonna miss you. I’m gonna miss your stupid fucking face and your stupid fucking voice,” Richie says, one more time. 

He takes a deep breath, looks at the ceiling and feels the tears falling on his cheeks. It hurts, and even when it stops hurting for a second, it comes back again, hurting some more. Richie feels pathetic, crying on his bathroom floor, surrounded by the one he loves, knowing that he will never get the chance to hear him say those words back. But he wants to say them anyway. He’s got nothing else to lose, Eddie’s already taken his heart, why not his dignity too.

“Eddie, I—” Richie doesn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence.

“Richie just shut up,” Eddie says, his hold on Richie’s neck growing weaker.

Richie looks at him, baffled, “What the fuck, Eds? You just ruined the moment.”

“Richie, just listen to me for once,” Eddie commands, frowning at his friend.

Richie dries his tears using the collar of his t-shirt, “Go ahead fuck head.”

“See?” Eddie says, releasing him and using his entire hand to point at him, “This is exactly why I didn’t say shit to you during all those years. You act like a fucking moron whenever things get too serious, you dickwad.”

Richie sighs, completely lost, “Didn’t say shit about what, Eds? I’m the moron? If I’m the moron here you’re king of the morons.”

“First of all, stop calling me Eds. Second of all, just shut the fuck up and kiss me already.”

Richie’s brain doesn’t really understand the words Eddie just said. He’s pretty sure he said something, really, but he refuses to analyze it. So he just stares at him like an idiot, his cheeks still wet from his previous breakdown, his mouth slightly open. Richie Tozier doesn’t easily get stunned into silence, but this is Eddie and he just asked him to kiss him. When the information finally makes it all the way to his brain, Richie just keeps staring at Eddie. 

Eddie whose grip on his neck is now full of tenderness, something Richie didn’t know he had in him. They’ve hugged a million times before, shared the same bed, even took showers together when they were all coming back from the quarry reeking of polluted water. But when Eddie gets closer to him, his lips brushing over his, sharing the same shuddering breath as his friend, Richie feels like he’s experiencing true intimacy for the first in his life.

Eddie stops right there, a few inches from him, his eyes cast downwards. Richie can see a few freckles on his forehead, the curve of his nose, the smoothness of his skin. And then he just closes the distance. Lips against lips. Richie’s skin catching fire whenever Eddie moves against him. They are both inexperienced so it is clumsy at first. A first kiss. Something new and weird yet terribly addictive. Richie finds himself grabbing Eddie’s wrist, pulling him closer until he’s sitting on his lap, a much more comfortable position for both of them.

Eddie doesn’t hold back, his arms finding their way around Richie’s neck, his lips getting bolder. Richie doesn’t really care about confessing anymore. Those words are worth nothing compared to what he’s going through in that moment. Yet, he feels the need to slow down, his teeth sinking into Eddie’s lower lip before releasing him. Eddie lets out a curse, still holding onto Richie though, not wanting to let go. Richie runs a thumb across his jaw, finding stubble here and there, adoringly tracing the shape of his lips.

“Maybe we should go to my room?” he asks, still afraid, still so careful, aware that Eddie could change his mind at any moment.

But Eddie nods, smiling against his thumb, living a soft peck there, “I’ve got something to tell you first.”

“Oh,” Richie grins at him, “now you wanna talk.”

“Just shut up and listen,” Eddie retorts, his fingers still playing with Richie’s hair.

“I’m listening, Eddie spaghetti.”

Eddie shakes his head, “Earlier, you were about to say that you like me right?”

“Yeah, something along those lines. Maybe more on the side of “desperately in love with you and ready to put a ring on that finger” but yeah, I like you, Eddie.”

Eddie lets out a laugh, unable to remain serious, “Fuck, you’re so dumb.”

“I know. Doesn’t stop you from being all over my dick though.”

Eddie blushes, so much that Richie feels a little bit guilty about it, “Anyway, I like you too Rich. I just—I figured it wouldn’t make sense for me to say anything about it because it would just hurt us. You know, with me going away and all that?”

“Yeah,” Richie says, feeling surprisingly okay with that conversation, “I know you’re gonna forget about this anyway. That’s why I didn’t want to say shit about my—you know, my feelings.”

Eddie kisses him on the eyelid, then on the cheek and on the lips, “I don’t care anymore. I don’t give a fuck about what’s gonna happen when I leave this town. What matters is you. What matters is what’s happening right now.”

Richie considers it. The idea that they can enjoy the little time they have left together as much as possible, without caring about what comes after. Eddie cannot stay in Derry. He cannot just simply do that, not even for the sake of their relationship. And Richie gets it. He understands it. In three days, Eddie will leave and forget about him. But now that he’s holding him in his arms, now that he’s able to kiss him and tell him how much he loves him, it doesn’t seem so terrible to Richie after all. 

“So, what do you think?” Eddie asks, a little bit of concern clouding his features.

“I think that for once in your entire life, you’re saying something that I can understand,” Richie says.

They kiss again, so casually that he wonders why they haven't done this earlier. Eddie’s soft lips press against his until he tentatively opens his mouth, chasing after his tongue, figuring out what they both enjoy most. Eddie giggles when Richie reaches under his t-shirt, his fingers running along his skin, frantic in their exploration. He doesn’t mind it when Eddie stops kissing him, just to make sure they take this to his bed. Richie’s sweet and teasing and Eddie’s needy and passionate, the both of them true opposites even when love’s involved.

It’s one of their last days together and Eddie Kaspbrak is in love with Richie Tozier.

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh, if you've read until the end then THANK YOU! it's my first time writing for the IT fandom, i hope you enjoyed my contribution to reddie hell. i miss stan every day and i hope you all miss him too or else! don't be afraid to leave a kudo or a comment or both! 
> 
> you can find me on twitter @cowpoke690


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